Grace Like Rain
by LadyMidnight203
Summary: Harry didn't like the rain. Niether did Draco. But it brought them grace.


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or "Grace Like Rain".

I loved the beginning. The middle and end seem kind of wonky to me though. Harry/Draco. Tell me what you think?

* * *

He loved the rain. He loved the rain, because the rain was like grace. Sometimes it was sunny, but mostly it was grey. It came in short bursts and torrential downpours. And after the rain left, everything seemed to be clean, clear, and brighter than ever, much like grace. He loved the rain, when he was feeling dirty from all the shit his father put him through, when his heart hurt from the blank looks his mother gave him, when he was shaking and screaming silently from the curses and hurt Voldemort put him under.

But Draco hated the rain too, because it represented the grace he so longed for, but knew he would never get. No matter how much rain he stood under, he could never wash his hands clean of the blood. The rain couldn't wash the stains out of his soul. The rain couldn't replace his lost innocence. Draco hated the rain, for its ability to make everything right and clean, except for him.

Still, he stayed in the rain, hoping, wishing, for someone to come. Someone to agree with the rain and its portrayal of grace. Someone to argue with the rain and its inability to wash away the dark stains. Draco waited, was waiting, for someone to take him in their arms, and tell him they would stay. Even if everything wasn't going to be alright, they'd face it together.

And so he waited…

* * *

Harry didn't usually go out in the rain. He didn't like the sensation of cold water dripping down him. It reminded him too much of the cold showers he was forced to take as a child. After all, why waste warm water on a "freak"? It reminded him of washing clean in the hose because the Dursley's wouldn't let him inside after he was done his chores. The rain reminded Harry of the frigid cold of the lake during the Triwizard Tournament, and the frigid cold of his heart when he realized it was his fault Ron was in that lake. That frigid cold in turn reminded Harry of the Dementors and his mother's voice, which led him to think of Voldemort. So, as a result, Harry did not like the rain.

But this day was different. It was the day after the final battle. The Light had won, but not without terrible sacrifices. Snape was one of the first to go, protecting the same students who he claimed to hate. Kingsley too, saving Remus from Fenrir Greyback, the Death Eater who had originally infected Remus. Percy had redeemed himself in the final battle, saving Hermione from a cutting hex to the stomach. Hannah Abbott, Colin Creevey, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Parvati Patil, Lee Jordan, Professor Flitwick, Zacharias Smith, Blaise Zabini (who was not a Death Eater), and many Aurors all perished as well, most from the killing curse.

Harry was standing in the middle of the grounds, right over the spot where he had vanquished Voldemort, destroying the soul as well as the body. The rain was pouring, onto his hair, coursing down his face, soaking his clothes. And for once Harry didn't notice. All he could see, think, feel, was the final battle. The screams of terror, the helpless look in people's eyes as they realized their loved ones were dying, the blood and death, the sickly green light of the killing curse. Harry sat there for over an hour, in the rain, before he noticed that someone else was there, had been there for longer than he had. Draco Malfoy.

* * *

Draco had been pulled out of school in sixth year, supposedly to be taught how to run the Malfoy empire, but everyone knew the real reason he wasn't there was because he was being trained as a Death Eater. It was very quiet that year. At least, until Malfoy showed up again, on the front steps of Hogwarts with a note spelled to him. The note proclaimed him to be disowned. No more than that, just that he was no longer the Malfoy heir.

Wonder of wonders, the person who found Draco had been the least likely person to have cared. Harry Potter. Even more surprising was the fact that Harry did care. When Harry walked down the aisle of the Great Hall, a bruised, bloody, emaciated Draco in his arms it was as if time was frozen. No one moved or even seemed to breathe. Then all at once voices erupted. Loudest of all was Ron's.

"Harry, mate, are you all right? What happened?"

Harry looked back towards Ron, down at Draco, then back up to the teachers table. "I'm okay Ron, its Draco here that's not. If I could just have Mme. Pomfrey come up with me to the infirmary?"

"Of course Potter, come, and hurry. We might not have enough time." With that Pompfrey got up and rushed out of the Great Hall with Harry following.

* * *

Draco stared at Harry. He had been staring at Harry for months, ever since Harry found him on the steps. Draco had watched as Harry began to shut down, not talking or laughing for weeks, while Voldemort continued his campaign. There was no spark in Harry's dull, tired eyes as he read about the deaths each morning in The Prophet. Deep purple rings under his eyes laid testament to how much sleep he didn't get.

Draco wanted to go up to Harry sometimes. To hug him and tell him that everything was going to be alright. But he couldn't, because he knew that everything was not going to be alright. It wouldn't be alright for a long time.

* * *

Harry looked over towards Draco, then up at the sky. He studied the sky for a second, ignoring the raindrops falling on his face, then started talking.

"You know, this reminds me of a song I once heard. It was called 'Grace Like Rain'. _'Hallelujah, grace like rain falls down on me/ Hallelujah, all my stains are washed away, washed away'_. I never did like the rain. Right now, it seems to be calling to me, telling me its okay." Harry looked over at Draco as a raindrop rain down his cheek like a tear. "I don't want it to be okay. I don't deserve to have it all washed away. I killed people with mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, wives and husbands, people with children. I killed all those people, I deserve the stains."

Draco thought for a moment, and then walked over to Harry.

"If you hadn't killed the Deatheaters, and Voldemort the world would have died, swallowed by the evil in their souls. The people on your side chose to fight for themselves. You didn't force them to, they wanted, no they _needed_ to help. I won't say it will be sunshine and daisies now, because it won't. Not for a long while, if ever. But you don't deserve the stains. You don't deserve the guilt." Here he paused, and slowly brought both hands up to rest on Harry's cheeks. "What you do deserve though, is the grace."

As Draco stared into Harry's eyes he saw, to his amazement, some of the spark returning to them. Uncaring of the rain, Harry leaned in towards Draco. Right before their lips touched, Harry spoke.

"Thank you Draco, for being my grace."

And they stood, lips locked and arms around each other, as the rain poured down and washed away the stains.


End file.
